


The true, the blushful Hippocrene

by anactoriatalksback



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: A history of synonyms for 'slut', Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And neither is sober Jared, Bottom Richard, Drunk Jared, Drunk Jared is not good for Richard's sanity, Extremely mildly dubious consent, Facials, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Food Kink, Jared can be a little bit scary, Jared commits to uncomfortable metaphors, M/M, Maladroit Dirty Talk, Or at least brandy kink, Overheated language, Possessive Jared, Possessive Richard, Rimming, Vaguely Identity Porn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anactoriatalksback/pseuds/anactoriatalksback
Summary: Drunk Jared is....not good for Richard's equilibrium.





	1. Lucrezia Borgia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crucialandinert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucialandinert/gifts), [reserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/gifts).



> The first chapter of this story was in response to a prompt for the  101 kink memes .
> 
> I was asked for Drunk Jared, and crucialandinert and reserve asked me to continue and write, and I quote, 'Shame Sex' for the morning after.
> 
> Blame them, basically.

Jared is drunk.

Like, really, _really_ drunk.

Gavin Belson’s sent across a bottle of Hennessy as some sort of….bribe? Peace offering? Reminder of the wealth Richard could have had and that he keeps turning down when Gavin offers it? Some other power play? Fuck knows.

Jared has a different theory. ‘Lucrezia Borgia!’ he gasps, and _chugs from the bottle_. He’s downed like a third of it before Richard’s gotten to him and said that not even Gavin Belson would so obviously poison a business rival, though Jared’s already bleary look of scepticism leaches the confidence from Richard basically as he says it.

So now Jared – Jared, who passes out after like half a bottle of Rolling Rock – has necked 20CL of 100-proof brandy.

Really nice brandy too, apparently, Richard’s googled it. Gilfoyle would probably cry if he knew what had happened to it.

In the meantime, Jared – having steamrolled the fuck past the half-bottle-Rolling-Rock-induced stupor – shows no sign of passing out.

And Richard wonders what sort of drunk Jared would be, now that he’s – y’know – awake.

Angry? Sad? Silly? Horny?

_What?_

No, there will be none of that, thank you very much, Richard tells himself firmly. His normally basically-teetotal CFO’s had a metric fucktonne of alcohol because he was trying to foil the Borgias or something, and Richard has to – to keep an eye on him, and watch over him, and make sure he’s okay. All the stuff that Jared does for Richard day in and day out.

So he will absolutely _not_ be paying any attention to how Jared’s lips glisten in the lamplight, or how very bright his eyes have gotten, or the delicate flush on his cheeks and neck, or how loose-limbed and floppy and _young_ he looks, or the curl that’s escaped in the centre of his forehead, or how close he suddenly is to Richard…

‘Richard?’

‘Er – yeah, Jared?’

Jared is looking thoughtful. ‘I drank quite a lot of that brandy.’

Richard can confirm that one. ‘Yeah, Jared. Yeah, you did.’

Jared’s eyes are widening. ‘I – pilfered your trophy.’

‘I mean, it wasn’t – ‘

Jared’s hand goes to his chest. He connects on the –second? – try? Which. Is honestly commendable. ‘I drank from the vial meant _for your lips alone_.’

 _You’re_ the vial meant for my lips alone, Richard thinks but does not say out loud, thank _God_ , like what does that mean anyway, ‘Jared, no, it was for all of us - ’

Jared’s lower lip is shoved out, and he honestly looks like he’s going to cry. ‘I presumed, I _presumed_ to soil your chalice with my unworthy lips.’

What..is…Richard needs to….lie down or something, because Jared’s sounding like some sort of weird mediaeval porno right now. ‘You didn’t. Soil. Your – your lips are worthy’, _stop talking Hendricks stop talking now_ , ‘I don’t even _like_ the stuff.’ Please please put away that lip Jared I’m doing my best but you’re not making it easy.

‘It burns at first’, says Jared in a confidential tone, ‘but it passes so quickly and then, oh, Richard, it feels so _wonderful_ down my throat.’

Richard swallows. Discards the first, second, third and fourth things that come to mind.

Jared slips one very long finger into the bottle. Brings it out, gleaming with brandy, and holy fuck Jared’s drunk, he’d never dream of doing anything so…insanitary otherwise.

And then Jared holds out his finger. ‘Taste, Richard. You’ll see.’

Oh _God_.

And Richard tries – he is opening his mouth to say ‘That’s okay, Jared, why don’t we put you to bed instead, I won’t follow, I’ll just go and have 5000 cold showers’, when Jared takes the issue out of his hands by basically shoving his finger into Richard’s mouth.

And _oh_.

The brandy does burn a little, at first. But that just sets off the slight drag of that long, slender finger against Richard’s tongue, the grooves and whorls introducing and marking themselves forever to the roof of Richard’s mouth, that delicate pad just _made_ to be nibbled and sucked and licked, and Richard’s cheeks hollow out as he draws Jared’s finger in, further, further, and out, and in again.

It’s only a choked gasp from Jared that makes Richard open his eyes.

And realise that he’s basically been going down on Jared’s finger when his sweet, apologetic, very very drunk CFO was only trying to give him a taste of nice brandy.

Oh _God_.

He’s just about to apologise – apologise, and then down the rest of that bottle as fast as he can – when Jared leans forward, eyes hooded, and says ‘Oh, but you’ll want more, Richard.’

And tips Richard’s chin back, so gently.

And dribbles a little of that pricey brandy into Richard’s mouth. And a little bit down Richard’s shirt, because it’s not like the brandy helps Jared’s hand-eye coordination.

And Jared puts down the bottle, slots his mouth over Richard’s, and murmurs ‘let’s share.’

And oh, Richard never wants to drink anything any other way again.


	2. The Visigoth and the Vestal Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared is overcome with remorse. Richard is overcome with many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to reserve and the_emef for talking me off ledges with this one. My apologies and my gratitude.

Jared’s asleep on the floor of Richard’s bedroom.

Well, passed out, really.

Midway through their second shared mouthful of brandy, Jared had reared back with a panicked expression. Richard had asked ‘What the fuck?’ – or rather, ‘whblf?’ while dribbling brandy down his front – and Jared had darted to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, Richard had managed to get his green, clammy and very unhappy CFO to drink five bottles of water, and managed to drag in an air mattress while Jared was deposited in his chair. Jared had asked – piteously – ‘I’ll replace it, Richard, I’m so terribly sorry for the imposition’ – to swish mouthwash around his mouth, and had looked a little bit happier before finally going to sleep. A sleep completely devoid of frightening-sounding German, which was one blessing anyway.

Richard spent the night cursing the shitty, shitty timing of Jared’s return to lightweightedness, and also that even hovering irresolutely while Jared heaved his intestines over the toilet hadn’t managed to erase the memory of Jared’s full, soft lips, or his nimble tongue, or the feeling of being allowed to explore the inside of his mouth, ripe and warm with fine brandy.

And now he’s peering over his bunk at Jared lying on his side – curl in the middle of his forehead, fist under his chin like a little boy, looking untroubled and so _young_.

Richard can feel his heart tighten, painfully.

Oh, _shit_.

This is very bad.

It is one thing – and, to be clear, already not good – to make out with his CFO when he’s drunk - the CFO, Richard means, not Richard himself and oh shit that’s another fucking – oh God, he took advantage of Jared when he was drunk, he’s – he’s a fucking – a fucking _predator_ , oh _God_ , and now he’s mooning – _mooning_ – over Jared while he’s sleeping and ohshitohshitoh _shit_.

Okay.

So.

Obviously this can’t happen again.

And he will – he’ll – he’ll man up. He’ll. Apologise to Jared. He will promise to never, ever – y’know – fucking _paw_ at Jared when his defences are down, and if Jared can maybe also lay off the sauce near Richard, no Jared shouldn’t have to do that, Jared should be allowed to get wasted around his colleagues without being fucking molested, Richard will – he’ll be – he’ll be a fucking grownup and like an actual human being and not a goddamn fucking _creep_ who can’t be trusted around his sweet innocent Biz Dev, and – yeah.

And in the meantime, he’ll go to the kitchen and wait there instead of staring at Jared like a creeper from his bed.

Richard crawls to the ladder. He’s so freaked out about waking Jared that it takes him like five minutes between each rung to shoot a paranoid glare at his sleeping friend for signs of life. When he sets foot on the floor, his thighs are shaking from stealth-clenching-related tension.

So it does seem a little unfair, after all those precautions, for Jared’s eyes to flutter open and for him to say drowsily ‘Richard?’

Richard freezes. Jared sits up, and his lips are parted and his eyes are very wide and very blue and oh _fuck_.

Richard clears his throat. ‘So – hey. How. How, uh. Are you doin’ there, buddy?’

Buddy _. Buddy._ Kill yourself, Richard Hendricks.

Jared blinks, hand going up to his forehead. ‘Was I – did I - ’ and then a remorseful gasp and Jared’s eyes fly to Richard’s. ‘Oh, Richard, did I - ’

‘It’s fine’, says Richard quickly, ‘I’ll – I’m sorry, Jared, I should’ve, don’t - ’

But of course now that Jared’s seen an opportunity for self-flagellation he is all. _Over_. That shit.

‘Oh, Richard, how _could_ I.’

‘No, Jared’, says Richard, but he knows by now it’s useless, Jared’s got out his fucking Cat O’Nine Tails already, ‘look. You were drunk.’

‘I was _drunk_ ’, says Jared. ‘ _Steeped_ in – in swinish inebriation.’

‘Okay, Jared - ’

‘I – I violated your trust, Richard. The sanctity of your home, the cradle of Pied Piper.’ His fists fly to his hairline, and maybe that’s a response to a hangover but maybe he actually will start whaling on himself, and Richard flies over to crouch by Jared and grab his hands.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Richard can feel Jared’s pulse flutter under his thumbs. He clears his throat. ‘I. Look. I’m the one. Who should. Apologise, Jared.’

‘Richard’, breathes Jared, ‘how can you say that, I – I _molested_ you.’

And look. Just. If Jared could maybe avoid fucking _husking_ words like ‘molest’ – or, really, any words with ‘m’, ‘l’, ‘s’ or ‘t’ in them, so Richard doesn’t have to watch his lips pucker and his tongue and his teeth shape the sounds – at least not when Richard’s this close and not in, y’know, the most stable place?

‘I descended on you, Richard. Like – like a Visigoth dragging a Vestal Virgin out of her temple.’

I mean, Richard’ll be the first to admit he doesn’t have Jared’s Double PhD in Sex or whatever, but this is getting insulting. Also now Richard has a vision of Jared, like, tossing him over his shoulder and then like, _taking_ him against like a pillar (Doric? Corinthian? Fuck knows), and there’s no fucking way, like, that’s physically impossible, Jared’s arms are like noodles, but also, logistics aside, _very much_ not. Without. appeal.

 _Fuck_.

‘No, look, Jared, I - ’

‘I – I took advantage of your care, to urge my own - ’ Jared swallows, and Richard tracks the bob of his Adam’s Apple, ‘my _bestial_ lusts upon you.’

‘I mean’, says Richard, and oh God could Jared maybe not with the whispering and the overheated _molests_ and _bestial_ and _lusts_ that make Richard tingle far more than is really good for him, ‘Jared. It. It wasn’t.’

‘Richard’, says Jared, leaning forward, ‘I _entered_ you. Without permission.’

Oh come _on_.

‘Er’, says Richard, and he can feel it, that – fucking great knot of _want_ and _no_ and _please_ and _don’t touch_ that’s turned into a fist, clamping on him – ‘er, maybe don’t say. Entered?’

‘I _did_ , Richard’, says Jared, who has somehow reached whatever fucking age he is without a shred of self-preservation, ‘I _penetrated_ your mouth’, adding helpfully, like Richard’s forgotten, ‘With my finger.’

And that does it. The fist punches through him. Richard can feel the last fragile thread of his sanity snap. He lunges – actually lunges – for Jared, bearing him down over the air mattress with his wrists pinned over his head.

‘Entered me’, says Richard, and he can’t recognise that harsh growl as his own voice, ‘fucking. _Penetrated._ I’ll – I’ll _show_ you entered.’

Jared’s pupils are blown, his chest is heaving. ‘Richard?’

‘Are you’, says Richard, bending so close to Jared that his face blurs, ‘ _asking_. For trouble?’

Jared’s eyes flutter shut. Richard’s so close he can see his breath stir Jared’s eyelashes.

‘Fucking’, says Richard, ‘Do you really. Looming. Sticking your finger in my mouth. ‘Oh, let’s share the brandy’, Richard. All with your – your eyes, your, your mouth, your hands, your, and talking, like. Fuck, like a _porno_. Fucking _chalices_ and lips and _penetrate_ and violate and fucking _enter_ , and, and what, Jared? I’m just gonna, just gonna _take_ it?’

Jared’s lips part, and his chest moves against Richard’s as he exhales. Very quietly.

‘Maybe you think’, says Richard, wriggling against Jared. He giggles, a sharp, high burst of hysteria, ‘maybe you think ‘Oh, Richard lets me t-tuck in his shirt collar, and – and touch him, and, and then he fucking watches me with, with his thumb up his ass as I, I fucking _roll around_ in women, oh, and like, oh, I can leave him, he’ll come crawling for me, he’ll, fucking, stand like a, a _schmuck_ on my doorstep while I have an, an _orgy_.’

Jared gasps, a little, but Richard’s swaying in the siren clasp of a rant, he can’t stop now.

‘I can. Stick my tongue down Richard’s throat and walk away like the little _tease_ I am, and Richard won’t notice, Richard won’t do anything, Richard’s a fucking, a fucking _eunuch_ , he won’t bend me over and fucking. Give me. What I. Deserve…..’

And it’s then that Richard’s frantically out-of-breath brain finally catches up with his mouth and presents him with an itemised bill for the shit he’s said.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh _fuuuuuuuuuuuck_.

Okay, he’s gonna have to apologise. As best he can.

For. The. Jesus, where to even begin? For physically attacking Jared? For calling him a...oh God...everything he called him? For projecting onto him like a crazed fucking Gollum? For grinding on him while doing all that?

Which – should he – mention his quite obvious semi, or….? Does he. Owe that. To Jared? While he’s apologising?

Best not. Or maybe…? Because Jesus, how much worse could this thing get?

No, Richard does not actually want an answer to that question.

Okay. He’s gonna. Apologise. As gracefully as he can. And then he’s gonna. Go. And. Throw himself into the Bay.

‘Jared’, whispers Richard, ‘I’m so, fuck, I don’t know what – I’m so sorry, man, I can’t even, I swear I didn’t mean, I – mmf!’

Jared’s sat up and clamped a very large hand over Richard’s mouth. His eyes are open now. Open, and fixing Richard in a very direct stare. A very direct, very blue stare. And – in the dreamy way of drowning people just before they die – Richard thinks he’s seen that blue precisely once before, and it’s not Jared’s normal blues that would make Richard think of flowers and fall skies if he were that sort of person. Which he isn’t.

No, this blue is – very definitely sharper. Ice? Steel? Lasers?

Yes, thinks Richard, fucking _lasers_. The Hoolicon laser blue that visits Richard sometimes at night and leaves him shaking with guilt and terror and a wild thrumming heat and an erection that could drill for oil and _fuck_ , Hendricks, you need help.

And yep. There it is.

Richard takes in as deep a breath as he can, with that massive fucking hand over his mouth and part of his nose. Jared’s studying him. Richard feels. Pinned. Exposed. Like a fucking mouse hypnotised by a very long, very pale, very polite snake.

‘Richard?’ says Jared. ‘Stop talking.’

Oh, _thank you_ , Jared.

Richard nods fervently behind Jared’s palm, but can’t help the gasp that escapes him when Jared’s other hand fastens around Richard’s hip, and brings him very firmly in contact with Jared’s groin.

Because oh.

 _Oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there was shame, and I am planning to write sex. Dunno if that counts?


	3. Hot Taffeta Punk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hedge Sparrows! Arthurian myth! Many, many, mediaeval and early Modern synonyms for females of negotiable virtue!

‘Richard?’ says Jared. ‘If I take my hand away, will you promise to be good?’

Richard nods. He’ll be good. He’ll be so good. The hand on Richard’s hip has moved so that it presses, gently, on Richard’s ass, encouraging him to rock against Jared’s erection. Richard can’t do calm, or coherent, or probably even _verbal_ right now. But my God he can do good. He can _do_ good. With Jared’s help he can do so fucking good he’s hoping he won’t be able to _walk_ for a _week_ he’ll be so good.

Jared moves his hand away from Richard’s mouth. Drags the back of his knuckles down Richard’s cheek. Then his throat, then down his ribcage, past his fluttering heart, lower, lower, lower to his fly.

Richard whimpers.

‘Look at me, Richard.’

Jared’s voice is gentle, but Richard’s eyes are yanked up to Jared’s like they’re on the end of a string.

And when he looks into them he swallows.

Lasers.

His cock jerks against – _oh_ – Jared’s fingers, rubbing languidly against Richard’s crotch.

‘Ahh’, groans Richard.

Without breaking eye contact, Jared’s hand moves up (and Richard whines at the loss of contact) to undo Richard’s fly.

And then Richard lets out a choked gasp as Jared’s hand slips inside and cups him.

‘Oh, oh _God_.’

‘So, Richard’, says Jared, and his tone is easy, conversational, ‘you said earlier that I didn’t think you’d give me what I deserve.’

Earlier? There was an earlier? Was there _ever_ an earlier before those long, long fingers wrapped themselves around his cock?

There – oh, _fuck_.

‘J – Jared, fuck, I’m so sorry, I – nngh!’

Jared’s hand has tightened, briefly but quite definitely, around Richard’s cock. ‘I wasn’t finished, Richard.’

‘Sorry’, gasps Richard.

Jared’s hand resumes its gentle, measured stroke. ‘So what _do_ I deserve, Richard?’

Richard swallows. The words – the treacherous, fatal words – are crowding thick on his tongue, but he can’t, he can’t –

Jared leans forward. ‘Eyes, Richard.’

And Richard gazes into that bright, unsettling blue and gulps.

‘Richard’, says Jared, and every single letter inscribes itself onto Richard’s brain like a fucking commandment, ‘you promised you’d be good.’

‘Jared’, says Richard. It’s a plea.

Jared’s hand speeds up on Richard, fractionally. ‘Richard. What. Do. I. Deserve?’

Richard shakes his head, whimpers.

Jared sighs, gets as close as a living Jared Dunn will ever get to rolling his eyes. ‘Fine.’

‘That day you came to get me, Richard?’ he says, in a low confidential murmur. ‘When I had company?’

Richard’s head snaps back. ‘Oh no’, he thinks, ‘you little _minx_ , you wouldn’t….’

But of course Jared would, because Jared was put on earth to surgically remove whatever was left of Richard’s sanity after the Valley was done with him. ‘Erin’s a patent attorney. Kim’s a program developer. Radha – oh, Radha’s different. She’s a game theorist at Stanford. Amazing mind, and such astonishing hair, Richard, I – _ahh_.’

Richard’s sprung forward, crushing Jared’s hair in his fist. ‘You _deserve_ ’, he growls, ‘to be fucked. Like – like the thirsty little _bitch_ you are.’

And Jared’s eyes fill with a liquid, terrifying gleam. ‘ _Really_.’

Richard swallows. Jared continues ‘So…show me, Richard. Show me what I deserve.’

And he makes to move away.

Richard tightens his grip, a convulsive clutch. The thought of himself showing Jared – fucking Jared – makes his bones turn to water. He wants, oh _God_ he wants, but where to, I mean, he wants all of it fucking _immediately_ , how is he…

And Jared looks at him, that soft stare he knows so well, and smiles.

And in a businesslike tone he says ‘On your hands and knees, Richard.’

Richard stares dumbly at Jared for a long moment before scrambling so that he’s on his hands and knees facing away from Jared. Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you, Jared.

‘Good boy’, says Jared. He yanks Richard’s jeans and underpants past his ass, and Richard hisses as the cool air hits his bottom.

‘Shhhhh’, says Jared, ‘I’ll warm you, baby’, and Richard moans as Jared’s hands cup each ass-cheek. ‘But let’s get these off you, hmmmm?’ and the jeans are tugged further down, further, Richard urged onto one knee and then the next as his legs are bared, ‘you’ll need your legs…unencumbered, won’t you?’

Richard moans again. Pushes into those large, warm hands feeling him greedily, thumbs pressing lightly but with definite intent into the meat, caressing, spreading…

And Jared covers the length of Richard’s body, whispering into Richard’s ear, ‘Now, Richard, you said I deserved to be fucked’ (and oh the crisp clear _sound_ of that word in Jared’s mouth) ‘like the thirsty little bitch I am.’

A little slide, then, and Richard can feel Jared’s length between his cheeks, through Jared’s chinos.

‘It’s a bold vision’, purrs Jared. ‘Striking.’ He licks along the shell of Richard’s ear, and Richard gasps. ‘Arresting.’ Another swipe, and Richard shivers. ‘A little….light’, a gentle nip, and Richard whimpers, ‘on detail, but that’s fine. You’re empowering me to..’ and Jared rolls his hips, ‘ _fill in_ your vision, yes?’

‘ _Yes_ ’, says Richard. Gasps at a particularly filthy movement of Jared’s hips. ‘Yes, _fuck_ , yes.’

‘Good’, says Jared. It’s a long-drawn-out, satisfied sound. His hands pass, purposefully, intently, over Richard’s flank, rucking up his T-shirt, down to his thighs, back to his ass. Richard groans, chases the touch.

‘Higher’, says Jared. ‘Ass higher, Richard. The way I would. The way a thirsty little _bitch_ would.’

‘Oh _God_ ’, moans Richard, arching his spine, presenting himself to Jared, shuffling his knees apart so Jared can get a better look.

‘Oh _yes_ ’, says Jared. ‘On _display_ , like the _abandoned_ creature I am.’ He palms Richard’s ass, and Richard can feel the dip of the mattress as he moves closer. ‘Bent over…heedless of rectitude…..utterly lost to anything but my basest wants.’ His touch is featherlight, up and down Richard’s thighs, weaving delicately in and out and between Richard’s legs, and Richard’s squirming, rutting after the friction, pleading mutely for something, he barely knows what, except Jared’s the only one who can give it to him.

‘Just begging’, croons Jared, bending so Richard can feel his breath against his spine, the top of his ass, ‘ _begging_ to be pounded again…’ and he pulls Richard’s ass firmly against his groin, his hardening cock ‘…and again…’ and Richard cries out as he’s yanked back, ‘…and again, till I can’t remember my own name.’

‘Yes’, sobs Richard, ‘yes, fuck, _please_.’

Jared lets go, abruptly, and Richard whines. ‘But could I imagine’, and his voice drops, a dark brown rumble Richard can feel reaching for him, tunnelling into his bones, heating his blood, ‘could I imagine throwing myself away – _despoiling_ myself’ (and Richard shivers at the voluptuous ferocity of his hiss) – ‘on _tawdry_ , adulterous couplings that could destroy everything – _everything_ – I’d worked for?’

Richard freezes. Then his head snaps over his shoulder to stare at Jared. Who is staring back, eyes blazing.

Richard swallows. Then croaks ‘I’m sorry, Jared.’

‘ _You should be._ ’

Richard whimpers. And without breaking eye contact – he can’t, even if he wants to – he raises his ass higher, spreads his legs wider.

Jared lets out a shuddering, racking gasp. Richard can feel his own face split into a demented, feral grin.

Jared is not happy about Liz.

Jared is _jealous_. Of Richard’s – _Richard’s_ – one (terrible, categorically unsatisfying) sexual encounter.

Jared is his. _His_.

Richard lets his head drop back to his chest. His heart is terrifyingly, unspeakably full. He wants to crow, to punch the air, to find fucking Erin and Kim and Radha and just…fucking rub it in their faces. Eat your hearts out, losers, he’s mine, I’m a three foot dick and you all have my permission to _suck it_.

Jared recalls his attention by nipping once, sharply, at the base of Richard’s spine. Richard lets out a startled yelp.

‘Are you familiar’, says Jared, in that pleasant, lecture-hall tone, ‘with the hedge sparrow, Richard?’

‘…..What?’

‘The hedge sparrow’, says Jared. ‘The female is polyandrous, mating with multiple partners.’ His hands move back to Richard’s ass, kneading almost absent-mindedly as his voice drops into a dreamy murmur, ‘her lover waits in the bushes for her partner to leave.’ Jared bends in, touch becoming rougher, darker, and Richard moans quietly. ‘Lancelot comes to Guinevere. But when he leaves – when Arthur returns to Camelot, Richard – he knows that his lady has been untrue.’

Richard exhales into the mattress.

‘And then’, says Jared, into Richard’s ear, ‘what is Arthur to do?’

Richard can say nothing, only pant.

‘Then’, says Jared, ‘then Arthur has to chase all traces of Lancelot out of his Guinevere’s filthy, _whorish_ quim.’ His fingers jab suddenly, sharply, at Richard’s rear, and Richard yelps. ‘He pecks at her cloaca to induce her to eject Lancelot’s seed.’ His palms flatten, soothing the pain of that wicked little pinch, and Richard whimpers.

‘Like this’, whispers Jared, and then – _oh_ – he parts Richard’s cheeks and _pecks at his hole_.

‘Hhhhhhhhhhh’, says Richard. It, fuck, Jared is…is sniffing him, this shouldn’t be, this should – this should be fucking…revolting, it should…instead he’s squirming, torn between widening his legs to give Jared better access and squeezing his legs together so he can feel Jared on the inside of his thighs.

Jared chuckles, and Richard groans as he feels the vibrations against his hole.

‘ _Wanton_ ’, says Jared, and licks a stripe up Richard’s cleft. ‘Slut. Whore. Trollop.’ And he punctuates each word with a kiss, a suck, a nibble, a little bite on Richard’s ass-cheek, a warm wet exhale against his hole.

Richard’s knees are trembling, his cock leaking against the mattress, he’s wriggling, trying to get closer, impossibly closer, to that diabolically clever tongue. Closer as it circles kittenishly around his rim, lavishes long, wet, filthy caresses on his ass, his cleft, until he’s slick, dripping, aching. Until Richard feels as though Jared’s tongue could flay him, lay him bare, strip him of anything, anything, but the core of him, this mewling helpless thing entirely at his friend’s mercy.

So when Jared slips in his finger, Richard is not surprised. His sigh is one of relief, of a long-expected, delightful meeting. ‘ _Yes_.’

It sinks in so easily, down to the knuckle. ‘So _greedy_ ’, says Jared, appreciatively. Richard squirms and clenches in reply.

When Jared withdraws Richard whines, but in seconds he’s breathing a grateful ‘ _Jared_ ’ as Jared returns with a thumb. Two thumbs. Prying him open, Jesus. And then Jared says ‘And now…’ and fucking _harpoons_ him with his tongue.

It’s – oh Christ. Short, stabbing licks. Long, lush, lascivious sweeps. Leisurely, gentle, like a deep-sea diver. Furious, brutal, driving Richard.

And Richard – Richard rocks back into the touch, clenching, commanding, begging, pleading for more, to have more, to take more, as much as Jared can give him, all of it, all of it. He’s speared, writhing, impaled on his friend’s tongue. He’s shaking uncontrollably, his cock’s leaping, oh Richard could _open_ for Jared, he could – fuck – Jared could crawl into him, rearrange him, remake him, work him from the inside out, he could – oh yes, yes, yes,   _oh God yes_.

He comes shouting Jared’s name, and collapses into the wet spot.

He doesn’t know how long it is before Jared tips his chin up and says ‘Richard? We’re not finished yet.’

And Richard looks at Jared’s hard, red length, and swallows.

‘Could I ask you where you keep your condoms and lubricant?’, asks Jared, with seriously….fucking…incredible composure considering how painful it must be for him right now.

And – oh God – condoms? Richard doesn’t have condoms, he’s not _that_ optimistic, Jesus.

Something in his face must give him away, because Jared pushes out his lower lip – that fucking lower lip – and says ‘oh.’

And Jesus, Richard’s ready to go out into the street – buck naked if he has to – to get Jared whatever – _whatever_ – he wants, when Jared brightens and says ‘Well, we’ll improvise.’

And he’s got a hand in Richard’s hair, pulling his face up, and then – gently, playfully – he’s resting his cock against Richard’s bottom lip.

‘Fucked like a thirsty little bitch, you said’, Jared murmurs, ‘but you didn’t specify _where_.’

And fuck, Richard’s learning some things about his own refractory period, because even though he came shatteringly hard mere moments ago, his cock is making a _manful_ fucking attempt to rise to the occasion.

Richard’s mouth is actually, literally watering. He opens his mouth eagerly, tries to catch that slender, elegantly, fucking…insanely _Jared_ cock, but Jared moves it away, circles Richard’s mouth teasingly like he circled Richard’s rim. Leaves a little smear of precome on Richard’s cheek.

‘Jared’, whispers Richard. ‘Jared, I. Please.’

‘So _hungry_ ’, says Jared, his voice that dark silken whisper, ‘Such an _avid_ little slut’. He drags his cockhead lightly across Richard’s lips, grips Richard’s hair in warning when Richard’s tongue darts out. ‘Oh no no _no_ , Richard. You wait for me to come to you. You wait - ’ and Jared thrusts inside, ‘for me to _give_ it to you.’

And Jared holds Richard’s hair – not painfully, but in a grip that very clearly brooks no argument. Jared withdraws until only the tip rests in Richard’s mouth, and then edges in deeper. In. Out. Deeper each time. Sliding, dragging against Richard’s tongue. A sweet metronomic rhythm, just slow enough for Jared to talk while his cock moves in and out of Richard’s mouth.

‘ _Putain.’_

‘Crimson whore.’

‘Harlot.’

‘Hot…taffeta…punk.’

Richard whimpers at each word, at the dark, sumptuous pleasure Jared takes in them, at the vibrations as Jared speaks against his tongue, the roof of his mouth. And Richard can feel, with every little stutter of his hips, what it costs Jared to keep his voice so even. He clasps mutely around that sweet, sinful slide, and Jared moans out loud. Richard raises his eyes to Jared, and meets that crystalline stare.

And Richard can see the precise moment that Jared’s control shatters.

The hand in his hair tightens and Richard’s head is hauled back. Jared’s hips snap, and then he is fucking – _plundering_ – Richard’s mouth in earnest. Richard groans around Jared’s cock, gagging, eyes watering as Jared’s cock bumps against the back of his throat. He is nothing, nothing but a vessel for Jared at this moment, and fuck he wants to be nothing more. If he could draw Jared into him this way, never be without him again, please God he’d want nothing else.

Jared comes with an almost-noiseless ‘ _Richard_ ’, and Richard’s mouth floods with his seed. He tries to swallow it down as best he can, but it still dribbles out. He’s reaching up to wipe away the corners of his mouth when Jared drops down in front of him.

‘Richard?’ he says. ‘Let me.’

And delicately, fastidiously, he plies his tongue, licking himself off Richard’s face.

Richard closes his eyes and sighs in pleasure.

When he opens them, he sees Jared looking at him with that familiar look of concern, and oh fuck no, Richard cannot, no, Jared should not be looking like that, not now, possibly not ever.

‘Richard?’ Jared begins, and nope.

Richard flops down and makes an exhausted half-flap of the hand that he hopes looks sufficiently come-hither. ‘Just. Lie down. With me.’

And – after entirely too long, i.e. more than zero nanoseconds – Jared does.

He’s big spoon, of course.

* * *

 

Richard stretches, slowly. He’s feeling…ripe. Well-used. Loose and ductile. Irradiated. Like a peach bursting out of its skin in the sun.

He’s come three other times this morning. Once sucking feverishly at Jared’s wrist and sobbing as Jared took him apart with those long, long fingers. Once yanking at Jared’s hair in mute warning before he flooded his mouth, and then tilting his head back and moaning as Jared painted his face in long, sticky white stripes. Once with his teeth clamped on Jared’s shoulder as they slid their cocks together.

And now – well, now Richard has condoms.

Jared had said (once he had double-checked that Richard really, truly didn’t have any protection), with that trademark Boy Scout zeal, ‘We must make do, Richard’, but he’d shoved out his lower lip as well, and goddammit Richard hopes Jared never finds out the power of that lower lip, miraculously delicate and full all at once, soft and sweet and sad.

Although, considering that Richard scrambled into his jeans and out of the room and threw hopefully legally non-binding promises at a mortally affronted Jian Yang until he produced condoms, like, why the fuck does he have condoms, anyway, whatever – well, Richard suspects it can’t have escaped Jared’s notice just precisely what that motherfucking lower lip does to Richard.

Richard is also proud of himself for not actually locking Jared up in his bedroom like he wanted to when he was on the Great Prophylactics Quest of 2017. I mean, _Jared Dunn_ was in his bedroom, naked and rumpled and sweaty and pearly-skinned and flushed and bright-eyed and somehow for some reason _still there_ when Richard got back, clutching condoms and the brandy he’d rescued from the kitchen because he did not trust the look in Jian Yang’s eye.

And now Richard has his head nestled in the crook of Jared’s shoulder. As a pillow, Jared’s shoulder leaves. Considerable room for improvement. It’s thin and hard, and his collarbone spikes Richard’s forehead like a javelin. But Richard can feel the rise and fall of Jared’s chest, he can nuzzle and lick at that long, pale throat, he can watch the bars of light on Jared’s body through the slats in the blinds. The view’s fucking. The view’s fucking _fantastic_.

‘Richard?’

And Jared sounds…uncertain. Richard raises his head to look at him. ‘What is it, Jared?’

Jared licks his lips and Richard watches the movement. ‘I…when I said that you…should be ashamed of your…of you and Liz….’

Richard giggles, an involuntary little crow, he can’t help it. Jared looks solemn. ‘Richard, please, you must know, I…that was…intolerable presumption, I should never…’

Richard bends down to kiss him, to just hold that soft, full lip between his own, nibble and let go. Jared sighs into the touch, but he’s not done, of course he’s not. ‘Richard, and oh, Richard, I – I pretended to support you, it was – oh, the hypocrisy, Richard, can you ever - ’

‘Never’, says Richard, against Jared’s mouth, ‘you lying…little…slut.’

Jared kisses him back, warm and wet, and says ‘Only for you, Richard.’

Richard’s eyes fly to Jared, who’s already looking stricken. ‘I – no – Richard, I didn’t, you shouldn’t, I don’t mean to presume, there’s no obligation, I - ’

 _Oh hell no_.

‘Are you taking it back’, says Richard, scrambling to straddle Jared before he knows what he’s doing, fingers digging into his shoulders, ‘You can’t, you just said _only for you, Richard_ , you can’t, I won’t let you, I can’t - ’

And Jared’s eyes are staring up at Richard, so blue, so very very blue. Slowly his chest expands and falls. Slowly, clearly, he says ‘Only for you, Richard.’

And Richard’s heart feels like it’ll punch through his chest. He can feel his face crack into an unholy smirk.

‘Yeah, baby’, he says, and catches Jared’s mouth in a lingering kiss. ‘Only for me. All for me.’

Some part of him is cringing at himself, but whatever, that part of him doesn’t have a sun-warmed, pliant Jared Dunn writhing sinuously under him. That part of him doesn’t have Jared moaning and opening for him. That part of him doesn’t have Jared’s cock sliding slyly, deliciously, between his ass-cheeks. That part of him can suck _multiple_ eggs.

‘ _Richard_ ’, says Jared on a long-drawn-out gasp, hips lifting. Richard squirms against that delicate, all-too-polite pressure, and catches Jared’s groan in his mouth.

‘Yeah?’, says Richard, surprised at how deep – how rough – his voice can sound. He pushes back against that sweet drag. Jared’s arm flings out as he moves restlessly, and his hand knocks against the bottle of Hennessy.

‘It’, he swallows. ‘Richard?’

Richard looks at the bottle and is reminded of why he brought it with him. ‘Hand me the bottle, Jared.’

Jared obeys, but bites his lip. ‘I – Richard, in case you were, I – I don’t think I should have any more, I - ’

‘Lie back, Jared.’

Jared complies, and Richard uncorks the bottle. Tips a little of the brandy into the indent in Jared’s chest – that heartbreaking little valley that made Richard weep with its unbearable vulnerability when he first saw it.

Jared gasps. ‘R-Richard, are you – ahhhhhh.’

Because Richard has seated himself on Jared’s cock. Snugged up inside him. His. To have and hold. His to make and remake, do and undo him. His.

He rocks, experimentally, matching Jared’s groan. Bends forward and laps at the little well of brandy in Jared’s chest. Grinds down. Licks brandy into his mouth. Slams down – Jared shouts – and tongues at his friend’s chest, his ribs, his heart.

Dinesh and Gilfoyle, suffice it to say, never get even a sniff of the brandy.

Because Richard, too, is a thirsty little bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to reserve and the-emef for holding my hair back as I heaved my guts over a sink.


End file.
